03 The Fate Of The Muse - Marina's Tales (10 page)

I bought a small refrigerator that I stocked
with fruit and snacks to keep us going, and added a table with a
microwave and coffee maker. Shayla helped me pick out a sound
system, shaking her head in disbelief at my ignorance of the latest
pop music. The place started to feel comfortable and familiar, and
I imagined what it would be like to stay overnight. My father would
probably hate it… I wondered what Ethan would think.

The worst part of the clean-up was definitely
the bathroom, but with some heavy duty rubber gloves and lots of
bleach, even that was turning out to be a diamond in the rough. I
hung an antique gilded mirror above the sink, and stocked a shelf
with scented soaps and hand lotions. The quaint clawfoot tub
actually looked inviting, emptied of all the beer bottles and
scrubbed squeaky clean.

Colorful Kilim rugs I’d found at an antique
shop brightened up the floor, and I bought some tables and lamps
from local thrift stores. I splurged on a giant sectional couch
that was big enough to spread out on, upholstered in a velvety grey
fabric. Shayla and I watched in horror as one of the deliverymen
moving it inside nearly fell off the narrow stairs, miraculously
recovering his balance at the last possible second.

“That guy totally almost bought it!” said
Shayla, testing out the plush furniture with her feet up on an
ottoman. “I told ya’ that bird was bad luck!”

“Oh come on!” I laughed at her
superstition.

We kicked back on the comfortable cushions,
talking about what we would do in Paris. Shayla was eager to go,
dreamily speculating about how much fun we would have shopping and
sightseeing with Evie.

“Yeah,” I sighed, “It should be
interesting.”

Shayla looked at me out of the corner of her
eye, “We’ll keep you too busy to miss Ethan.”

I thought about Amber and Ethan talking about
me, maybe even hanging around together when I was out of town. An
image of him smiling at her flashed into my mind.

“Guess who’s back in town?” I said morosely,
telling Shayla about meeting Amber and her friend. It felt good to
let it out, and I complained bitterly about having to see her at
college in the fall. I described the scene at the farmer’s market
to her and her eyes narrowed.

“That bitch! I’ll kick her ass for you if you
want!” she fumed.

“Shayla!” I was shocked, for violence was the
last thing I wanted to think about where Amber was concerned. Now
it seemed as though I could inspire it in Shayla too… I needed to
be extra careful where my feelings were concerned.

When Shayla saw the shock on my face she
looked contrite, “Sorry, I just hate her,” she said.

“Don’t say that!” I moaned. I felt like I was
being tempted.

“Everybody hated her! She always thought she
was so great just because her dad had money. She tried to get Ethan
to give up surfing and go out for football cuz her dad was into it…
She used to lead him around like a puppy…” her voice trailed off
when her eyes met mine.

“Wow,” I choked out, having a hard time
imagining it.

Shayla shrugged, “You got nothing to stress
about… Ethan loves you.”

I was quiet for a few seconds, “How serious
were they?” I looked at her searchingly.

“I dunno,” she seemed nervous, and I knew
that I probably shouldn’t ask. Shayla shifted around uncomfortably,
clearly afraid the truth was going to hurt my feelings. I changed
the subject, asking her what her mother thought about her going to
France.

“She’s like, real happy for me,” she smiled
with relief, “She wants me to do all the stuff she never had a
chance to do.” She looked at me in wonder, “I never even been on a
airplane!”

“You’ll be on lots of airplanes when you’re a
supermodel,” I said.

She rolled her eyes at me, “Very funny. I
haven’t even done my first fashion show yet!”

I nodded, feeling better already, “There’s a
first time for everything.”

“That’s what
she
said!” Shayla cried,
dissolving in a fit of laughter at her own joke. Her brows knit
together when I didn’t join in, “Where’s Cruz when we need
him?”

“We should call him,” I said, digging into my
purse to get my phone. When I retrieved it, a business card
fluttered out to land on my lap.

“Oh!” I said, “I promised I’d call this
person,” I excused myself and dialed the number of the art gallery.
The owner answered right away and was as nice as Bill had said,
asking if I could come by as soon as possible to discuss putting my
paintings in her gallery. I agreed, and hung up the phone.

“Do you want to go see some art?” I asked
Shayla.

“Sure,” she replied, “Why not?”

We pulled up to the gallery and looked at the
display in the front window. There was an eclectic mix of
sculpture, textiles and paintings. I liked the combination.

“I seen this place,” said Shayla, “But I
never went in here before.”

The moment we entered we were greeted warmly
by a colorfully dressed older woman. Her white hair was cut in a
chic bob, and like Cruz, she wore all black. She sported an
enormous turquoise squash blossom necklace that dwarfed her petite
frame, and a pair of bright red cowboy boots.

“You must be Marina!” she said, “I’m
Susan.”

I introduced her to Shayla, and she led us on
a tour of her gallery, enthusiastically telling us about all the
different artists and their work.

Large abstract paintings were interspersed
with rustic looking tapestries and weavings. We looked at a
collection of watercolors of sailboats, alongside colorful
impressionistic landscapes. Susan broke up the space with
sculptures as well; shining ceramic pieces mounted on pedestals,
and beautifully carved burl-wood vessels with satiny burnished
surfaces, just begging to be touched.

I paused to inspect a group of miniature
still life paintings rendered in heartbreakingly precise detail.
Fruit spilled out of baskets, and each tiny berry was spattered
with dewdrops that looked so realistic I almost believed I could
reach out and eat one.

“Whoa,” said Shayla in a hushed voice, “I
didn’t know people could paint like that.”

“Look at these,” I was drawn to some amazing
glass sculptures mounted on the wall. Colorful and free-flowing,
their flowerlike shapes reminded me of anemones and urchins; I
could almost see them undulating on the wall like the jellyfish at
the aquarium.

“Aren’t they magnificent?” asked Susan, “I
think your paintings would look fabulous right alongside this
display… Are you interested in showing here?”

“Yes,” I smiled, charmed by the quirky mix of
objects she’d assembled, “I like your gallery very much.”

She beamed at me in return, “Good. The moment
I saw your pieces I knew they’d be a great addition to this show…
Can you paint anything larger than the ones at Bill’s place?”

“I can now,” I smiled.

By the time we left I’d agreed to bring her a
wall’s worth of paintings for the group show’s Friday night
opening.

“Wow,” said Shayla as we drove back home, “I
didn’t know there were places like that around here… all that stuff
was really sick! When I’m a rich model I’m gonna put like, tons of
stuff like that in my apartment.”

“Wait until you see the Louvre,” I said.

“The what?”

I began to have a hard time sleeping. My
thoughts kept returning to Lorelei, Nerissa and now, Nixie. It
appeared we were all hybrids, born to mermaid mothers and human
fathers. But how was it that I was the only land-born hybrid that
could communicate with them? Could it be because I had transformed
many times– apparently before I was even born?

The water seemed to be the key, the source of
the mermaid’s strength and magic. They were lured out of the ocean
by their desire for human men, tragically unaware of the
consequences. If they returned to the sea, a new mermaid was born,
but if love made them weak, and they stayed on land…

I thought about Evie, and the other muses I’d
soon be facing. We were all the result of someone else’s tremendous
sacrifice. I couldn’t stop wondering about Nixie. If she’d been
born on land would she have developed like a normal human child,
thinking that the monsters raising her were her family? The whole
thing was confusing, and I wondered what Ethan would say about it
when I finally had a chance to break the news to him.

He knew about Nerissa’s pregnancy, so maybe a
baby mermaid wouldn’t be such a big shock to him. I wondered what
he’d make of the fact that my mother had returned to her mermaid
family along with me more than once. Would he be able to understand
that I needed a connection with them too, or would he just feel
threatened, and use it as an excuse to pull away from me?

Pull away right back to Amber.

When I remembered Amber it was with a
visceral surge of jealousy. She might have told Ethan they could
just be “friends” but I knew what she had in mind. She was like a
child who discarded a toy, only to try and snatch it back when she
saw that someone else wanted it. I thought about the way she spoke
his name and started to get angry. Then I started to get scared. I
hated her, but I didn’t want her to end up dead because of it.

I grew more and more agitated, eventually
sitting up in bed and turning the light on to grab a book. All of
my art supplies were at my new studio, so I fidgeted, unable to
paint to soothe myself. Emptied of all the canvases, the room
looked much bigger, but it still felt like the walls were closing
in on me. I finally slammed my book shut and got out of bed,
picking up my wetsuit.

I paddled out under the waxing moon,
listening as the ocean whispered stronger than ever. Lorelei
arrived, and sensing my black mood, towed me wordlessly to the
point. It had been a long time since we’d surfed there, but the
mysterious shadowy night waves were every bit as thrilling as I
remembered.

I was flying on the water, as free as any
other wild creature in the sea. It felt like I was gliding on the
edge of an infinite universe, and I was mercifully completely
caught up in the rapturous sensation of forgetting.

I took wave after wave in the dark water,
resting between sets to look up at the stars and down in wonder at
little phosphorescent sea creatures that flitted about in the
depths. I felt a twinge of pain in my head and blinked away a vivid
image of myself swimming below the water with Lorelei; I couldn’t
tell if it was her thought or mine, and I felt like I was being
absorbed. When I looked into her eyes it was as if they were my
own.

“
I need to go,
” I said, suddenly
frightened. I reached up to feel the lump of the aquamarine
underneath my wetsuit.

“
Will you come again soon?
” she asked,
“
Nerissa wants to go wave riding too.
”

“
Yes
,” I said, knowing I would,
despite the fear that sat like an ice cube in my stomach. I knew
I’d keep doing it, even though I was beginning to sense an
increasing threat coming from the innocent mermaids. I was
changing, becoming more attuned to them. As strange as it sounded,
it felt as though I was merging with them, becoming part of the sea
cell by cell, and it felt good, like drifting off to sleep. No
wonder they were so weak and frail when they left its nurturing
pulse.

Living on the land, contending with all of
its worries and problems, kept me grounded in the most literal
sense of the word. I suppose that constantly fighting gravity,
coupled with being subjected to aging, toughened you up– even as it
wore you out.

Bidding Lorelei goodbye, I made for terra
firma and trudged up the stairs, cold and exhausted. The air was
still, I was the only creature stirring in the calm, quiet moments
just before dawn electrified the atmosphere. I nearly ran into the
outline of a small figure at the top of the stairs, barely
illuminated in the silvery mist, and I dropped my surfboard in
surprise.

“Dollface,” a quiet voice called out
affectionately, and I relaxed. It was Stella.

“Stella! Are you alright? What are you doing
out here in the middle of the night?’ I asked.

“I needed to see… to check…the little wild
ones…” her voice drifted off, and I squinted to try and focus on
her. It felt as if she were backing away from me.

“Stella?” I repeated nervously, wondering if
she was sleepwalking.

“She had on the blue shoes? Of all the
cockamamie things…”

“What shoes?” I asked, peering into the black
shadows.

“Aw, he was a swell guy when he wasn’t on the
hooch…” her voice faded out, and I strained to hear her.

“Stella?” She worried me, for she was
rambling more than usual, “Can I walk you home?”

I wondered where she lived, realizing at that
moment exactly how little I really knew about her. She started to
walk away, and I could see her shadowy figure shuffling up the
stairs, pausing, and turning back to face me, “I need you to watch
over them. Don’t let them go hungry.”

“Of course not,” I said, bending down to pick
up my surfboard, adjusting it under my arm before following her up
the stairs. She disappeared into the near blackness of the cover of
the trees, and I could hear her on the dark path ahead of me,
laughing to herself at some private joke.

“Bless your soul, sweetie.”

When I reached the top of the stairs she was
nowhere to be seen.

“Stella… Stella?” I looked up and down the
street but she had gone on without me. I stopped to listen but the
night was as still as before. I made a mental note to pick up more
cat food in the morning, and get it to her before I left for Paris.
She was probably starting to run low right about now.

The next day dawned bright and clear. It was
Friday, and the big demonstration was scheduled for the next
afternoon. I knew that Ethan was already at the site, hard at work,
setting up a stage for the speakers and performers and roping off
the parking areas. Dutch was picking up a barbeque pit, and they
had plenty of volunteers scheduled to set up tables and
awnings.